


At Your Service

by Bell_Trihuman



Category: Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Character Death, F/M, M/M, Master/Servant, Master/Slave, Minor Violence, Servants, Slavery, Threats of Violence, Torture, Underage - Freeform, Violence, slave - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2019-12-30 14:26:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18317099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bell_Trihuman/pseuds/Bell_Trihuman
Summary: You, a rebel against your own villainous background, are forced to attend Black Hat's camp for young villains in order to be corrected of your anti-villainous ways. You suddenly find yourself at the mercy of both Black Hat himself, and surprisingly, by the renowned Dr. Flug, as you see a side of him no one else has while working at the mansion of Black Hat as the servant, and at times, more.





	1. I'm Going Where?!

"I'm going where?!", you shout. You look at your parents in shock, confusion, anger, but mostly fear. As your face goes pale, your mother repeats herself coldly,  
"We're sending you off to Black Hat's Camp of young villains, maybe it'll teach you how to behave like a proper villain." You're frantic as you turn to your father, a tall, heavy built, and intimidating man,  
"Dad- you're okay with this?!" He simply grunts and you become exacerbated as you fail to find the words to defend your case and throw your hands up in the air, storming your way to your room. Shutting the door, you lean against it and slide down to the floor, squeezing your knees into your chest, you put your chin on your knees to think. Of course, you're being rebellious right now, you're 12 and becoming a teen, which means you need to grow up, and with this family, that means growing up quick. Though you suppose when people think of rebellion, they don't think of opening doors for strangers, helping the elderly, volunteering out of the "kindness" of your heart, and in general, being selfless. But considering that you come from a long line of villains, this is basically blaspheming and your parents had simply had enough of it once they caught word of you saving someone like some common city hero.  
You hear a mild knocking on your door and immediately know it's the soft-spoken family butler, Baez. Not bound by money, nor curse, but by an admirable promise of servitude till death that he's upheld even now as he's nearing his 100th birthday.  
"Young Mistress", you hear him rasp out," may I enter?" You abide and reluctantly open the door upon standing up to see a roughened face, full of tired lines and old scars deep into the tissue. You still find it surprising that he's managed to keep a full head of hair 'till now, granted it's whitened with time. You step aside and allow him in. He walks in without assistance and you notice the limp in which you know is caused by decaying bone and muscle. Even though he's asked you to ignore his hindrance before, you stare, pitying the old man.  
His hands are behind his back as tries his best to stand straight and tall like a true gentleman, then clears his throat causing you to flick your gaze to his piercing grey irises that bore into you. He looks like he could kill a man at any moment without a second thought, but you know him better. He's gentle and at times understanding. He is also much more patient than your mother and there for you more often than your father. He taught you the life skills your parents apparently never had the time to teach you.  
"Young Mistress", he starts, "I believe it's time to start packing for your upcoming trip." your brows furrow in frustration,  
"Why?!" you suddenly burst. The butler's eyebrow raises in question. You retract and try again,  
"I mean- why do I have to go? By the law of the land, I've done nothing wrong and by the majority of the population's moral compasses on this pathetic speck of dirt, I'm practically a saint!" He closes his eyes and breaths out. You stall your fuming as you know that face. He's thinking. Let him think.  
"Whose home do you sleep in?", he states.  
"ha-but-"  
"Who's home", he cuts you off sternly but softens," do you sleep in?" your voice gets stuck in your throat as though you were scolded.  
"My parents' home", you quietly respond, docile. You look down in shame. Baez tightens his lips and sighs out loud while making his way towards you. He gently lays his gnarled hand upon your head in a comforting manner and you look up with large puppy-dog eyes.  
"Please start packing young Mistress, I'll be back in twenty minutes to put you to bed.", he says gently and slowly makes way, most likely, to your father who enjoys his nightly tea. You, on the other hand, make way to your walk-in closet. You grab one of the larger suitcases in the farther part of your closet where you haven't walked in years. Of course, with uncleanly habits, there's a mountain of stuff covering said suitcase, so you pull aggressively at the exposed luggage handle without much success until you hear a loud pop and suddenly fall backwards. You land on your rump and look to see only the handle in your grasp and nothing else. Your wide eyes of surprise turn into slits of anger as tears of frustration slip onto your cheeks from everything happening around you. You're losing control and you loathe it, but you're trying so hard so why does it have to come to this?!  
You take a few minutes to get your emotions out by stomping, screaming, throwing and breaking things, etc., then sit on the floor sniffling, bringing yourself back together. Though you calm down, you just expelled the last of your emotional energy and now have no more strength to fight sleep much longer and start packing with a more accessible back-pack this time and as if you are on autopilot, you just grab the bare essentials and shove them into the sack then lay on the top of your bedsheets and blankets and pass out.  
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Upon waking up you find yourself under your blankets with last night's clothes still on. You have dishevelled hair and sore eyes from last night as well, along with dried tears painted upon your cheeks- a sad canvas to behold. Light filters in through the windows illuminating the clutter that's about your room. You're entranced by the morning sunshine and watching the dust and whatnot fall and float about the room.  
There's a soft knock at your door. You grimace and just want the world to swallow you whole.  
"Mistress..", Baez softly calls out," May I come in?" You stay quiet hoping you'll be left alone but you hear a slight grunt.  
"I'm coming in, my apologies." You don't mind and mentally forgive him. Laying there with the covers up to your nose, you watch the entrance open and see the elderly butler shambling in. You divert your sight from his sharp gaze to the floor, deciding to just lay there, too tired to defend yourself. Rather, you are simply tired in general and don't have the strength to do much of anything.  
"Thank you for putting me to bed..", you croak out quietly. You'd think he wouldn't be able to hear you from how mild and muffled you are, but he stretches his face into a pitying smile,  
"But of course Mistress." You both stay in easy silence for a moment as he waits for you to speak, allowing you to think. There's so much you want to say and ask- How long will I be gone? Will you still be here when and possibly if I come back? Why, of all people, do I have to go?...I'm sorry..-but in the end, you simply ask,  
"Is it time to go?", another silence.  
"Yes, my young Mistress.", he finally chokes, but regains posture," Please be ready to go in a short time and have your things with you down in the corridor. Be sure not to forget anything you'll need, will you?", silence once again. You sigh and close your eyes,  
"Okay."


	2. The Arrival

You decide to pack a few more items that you may need for your upcoming stay. Looking over you see your orange hand-knitted octopus plushy laying on your bed. You go ahead and grab that too because why the hell not? After all, there will most likely be no source of comfort for when things get tough, so might as well bring your own.  
Rubbing the last of the tiredness from your eyes, you head down the large set of stairs with your bag to the corridor. When you get down there, your mother is already frantically making her way towards you to make sure you're ready. She frowns at the obvious dried tear streaks on your face. Grabbing a handkerchief from her dress' pocket, she licks the fabric and wipes your face while making sure not to ruin her embroidered initials upon the said handkerchief. You push her hand away with an annoyed grimace on your face and she huffs in return, putting the square cloth back into her pocket.  
"You're always so messy, you make us look bad," she comments, "Come along, your father is waiting for us in the car." she urges you in front of her and you stumble to regain your balance. You try to keep a few steps farther of your mother as to not be shoved from your slowness until you make it to the front door. You stop as you see Baez standing there, his gloved hand on the door handle and his eyes seem to soften just a touch at the sight of you. They calm but also sadden from seeing you. Your mother walks past you and Baez opens the entrance for her as she swiftly walks through.  
"C’ mon child. Daylight doesn't last forever.", she snarks.  
"One moment, Madre, I'll be right out", you call to her. She sighs and clicks her heels on the concrete while walking towards the vehicle. You wait 'til you hear the car door shut, then turn to the butler before you. His demeanour becomes frantic as he slips something into the front pocket of your jacket quickly. He lifts your chin, so he knows you're focused and listening to him.  
"Mistress, please, be careful, and whatever you do, do not look at what I've given you until you are certain that you are alone. No one must see, not even the most seemingly close or innocent of people, do I make myself clear?" His eyes are immense and serious, more so than usual. Startled by the sudden situation, you merely nod your head, at a loss for words. You'd never seen him like this.  
He squeezes your shoulder reassuringly as his features relax again, then gently urges you outside. Stunned, you just follow along until you no longer feel his hand guiding you. You turn around just in time with the entrance clicking shut. You blink and shake your head a bit to keep it out of mind then quickly go to get in the back seat. The last thing you need is an angry father.  
You buckle in and look up to see said father looking at you in the rearview mirror. He grunts and looks past you through the mirror as he backs the vehicle out.  
Before you know it you're driving out on abandoned roads, long and lonely. The ride is painstakingly silent aside from the occasional grunt from your father and the constant filing of your mother's nails. No music, no talking, and it's putting you on edge. You decide to grab your earbuds and slide it into the input in the back of the car. Being out in the middle of nowhere comes with no available radio stations. So you listen to the static instead of bearing another second without proper noise.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------  
You must've fallen asleep because you bolt awake the second you feel the car stop. You look out to see kids running about and doing other strenuous activities. A lot of kids looked rather bizarre. Some are being rebellious or punished in various ways. But they were all being ordered around in some way, with the occasional few doing their own thing or relaxing. You slip your earbuds off cause you could hear muffled talking.  
"Out, now.", You father demanded. He is a man of very few words, so you know he's serious as he doesn't even acknowledge you as he speaks. You awkwardly shuffle out after taking off your seat belt, with your backpack in tow. As soon as both of your feet are on the ground, they practically abscond, the door closing from the sheer velocity of speed they are going. They leave you in the dust. You try to watch them leave, but you wilt into yourself, hacking up the dirt out of your windpipe and lungs. Your eyes are watering by the time you were done coughing. Wiping the forming tears from your eyes, you regain your posture and turn around to see what await you. Though, you weren't exactly prepared for everyone's attention to be on you.  
You shrink slightly into yourself and look around at anyone who may indicate to you what you're supposed to do now. Wasn't long before whispers erupted. You were about to run and hide from everyone when you suddenly catch a glimpse of someone moving quickly towards you. You snap your head in that direction to see none other than the renowned scientist, Dr Flug. You immediately become stiff as a statue, pupils locked on him and nothing else. He stumbles out of the crowd, clipboard in hand, having caught onto the many whispers of the new arrival.  
Regaining his composure, he clears his throat and fixes his goggles upon his famous paper bag. He makes his way to you one step after another. Everything's silent again and you are now two seconds away from flipping your shit. You've heard about how dangerous Black Hat and his companions are and there one is, several steps away, and you're frozen. You've never really met any other villains aside from your parents and they were rather mild compared to others, so you don't know what to do, how to act. You feel like you're going to burst out crying any second now.  
He's right in front of you when he stops and asks in the brisk silence,  
"I'm assuming you're the new arrival? Your parents called ahead of time.", you could see the smile in his eyes as he continued, "Welcome. It's nice to have met you before anything happens.", he held out his hand for you to shake. But with the mild threat, that was the last straw and you pass out.


	3. Welcome

You start to come back to consciousness, feeling yourself swaying. After a while, you're pretty dizzy and there's an abundant pounding in your head. Groaning, you feel your ankles are being dug into and that your arms are quite sore, post moving them. You hiss in pain and figure that you're upside down due to your arms seeming to stay upright while relaxed. You open your eyes expecting to see people surrounding you or at least some form of daylight, but you're met only with night and dim lighting from a singular light pole farther away and minimal glow from the moon. You huff a sigh of annoyance then groan as you curl into yourself to investigate your situation further. You're tied by your ankles, with a rope, to a sturdy tree branch. You relax your abdomen and unceremoniously flop back into your original position with a loud 'oof'.  
"That was quite the hello you gave me this afternoon." You hear a familiar voice from beside you. Turning to look, you, of course, see Dr Flug, no longer with a clipboard in hand as his hands are now tightly behind his back.  
"And I see you've gotten your proper welcome to the camp from the other members here.", he gestured towards your situation," I had taken you to the recovery tent, but I have no control over how they choose to greet you to your new home away from home.", his voice is eerily soothing as though he's trying to keep a rabid stray animal calm, attempting to capture it. He takes a step closer, causing you to finally snap out of it.  
"Stay away from me!", you try to growl, but it comes off more like a squeak than anything. He looks taken aback but then snorts at your pitiful attempt of defending yourself. He comes even closer and before you know it, you're face to face with him. All you can see on his face is the slight reflection of your own in his dark goggles. You looked horrified. Realizing such, you attempt to look braver than you feel. He chuckles in response,  
"Que linda cara. What a cute face you have there." You express your dismay freely again and don't realize that you're holding your breath until your chest deflates of the fake courage. Being conscious of yourself and the plight you're in, you hold your abdomen with your arms. You hope it'll make you feel better in some sense, which it does, but certainly not for long as he reaches a gloved hand to your cheek. You freeze and your blood runs cold. Your breathing becomes shallow, your eyes locked on every move he makes.  
You accidentally breathe in a whiff of his breath and become aware of how much he reeks of alcohol and realize he's fucking drunk. You wrinkle your nose in response and he giggles like a little kid.  
"Sorry, niño. I suppose the smallest scent of alcohol is too much for any kid." His words are a bit slurred now. You suppose he's given up the facade of being sober.  
"Perhaps I could help you with that little issue though.", he suggests in a rather off-putting manner. You stare him in the eyes for only a moment before you notice a syringe coming from behind him. You scream internally, realizing he had never revealed his other hand the entire time. How did you not notice that?!  
You go to put your hands up in defence but you both become stagnant upon hearing a voice in the distance bellow out,  
"FLUG!" The voice was grotesque and bone-chilling but sounded familiar. You couldn't quite pinpoint it, though. The scientist stared at you for a little longer than what was comfortable before lowering his head, sighing. He took a couple of steps away before turning around and tossing an object that glinted in the air. You barely register it but catch it just in time, of course not without fumbling with it at first. You look it over and realize it's a serrated knife, completely coated in black, save for the serrated edge of the blade that shines silver. You look back towards the scientist only to see his back towards you. Mentally questioning what the hell this is for, he answers as though he could read minds,  
"Get yourself out of your problem, nobody else is going to do it for you. Lest you want to be found the same way they left you..", you both pause and stare at each other for only a moment more before he turns and leaves you hanging upside down, walking in the direction his name was called.  
You look at the knife once more before turning your attention to the rope holding you in the air. Your ankles are bruising now and it's truly starting to cause you pain. You squirm, trying to get yourself in a more comfortable position while you attempt to free yourself. Your first attempt begins with swinging backwards and forwards to gain momentum, knife tightly in-mouth. You've gained enough momentum, you think, once you try to flex your abdomen, reaching for the rope. Unfortunately, it backfired, causing your body to swing the ground again, only to be stopped by the tight ropes. You hiss inward, your toes curling into your feet as you groan out in pain. Your body convulses for a moment, reacting to said pain, then relaxes. You take a moment to breathe, not realizing how physically taxing this was. There's blood still rushing to your head, making it difficult to think. But you try anyway.  
You think that maybe if you give yourself enough momentum, you could try to catch your legs this time instead of reaching straight for the ropes. It might just work. You take a few recovery breaths while still thinking then grunt as you flex your body again, working your momentum up. The knife's still in mouth, making breathing more and more difficult as time goes on. One final flex and you reach for your legs, which to your surprise, works! But to get to that position was again exhausting. You just cling to your legs, heaving breaths. This strains your ankles more than you'd like to take notice of, so you claw your way up your legs, wincing every time you claw into them harder than you meant to. As you come closer to your ankles, you slowly bend your legs with yourself, it becoming increasingly difficult to catch a breath as you continuously curl into yourself. Before you know it though, your hands are clinging to the rope. You sigh a breath of relief, best you can, then decide that you wouldn't be able to work on the rope in such position. You prepare yourself once again then scratch your way up the rope, feeling your body freeing itself from its confinement, slowly but surely. You feel the rope around your ankles shifting from its original placement to the lower half of your calves. It's a relief from your old pain but it doesn't change that it's still there, just placed differently.  
Practically in a standing position, you hold onto the rope with one hand and retrieve the knife from your mouth with the other. Without haste, you hold on tight and begin sawing at the thick material. With determination on your side, you start strong and quick with the blade, but only a few minutes in, your arm's movements become sluggish and strained. Switching to the other hand, you start again in the same manner. There's a show of some progress, but you could swear that you keep cutting at the same bit of rope, not going anywhere with it.  
Too tired to continue, you pause and rest your head upon the cordage. You hear a strange sound right in front of your face and open your eyes to see the rope regenerating, leaving your efforts meaningless. Pausing for only a moment to understand what just happened, pure rage fills your face and you scream out of frustration, yelling out profanities at the inanimate piece of twine as though that were any more effective than what you had been doing for the past half hour. Your face twists into itself as you feel the temptation to cry. You hiccup in an attempt to keep it down, holding your breath best you can to contain your tears. Calming down, you practice calm breathing, something you saw an entire program dedicated to it on T.V. once, which, incredibly, helps! But you're already exhausted as it is, the past few days have been, and it's taken its toll causing you to slowly drift into a much-needed sleep, breath shaky from the attempted sob, whilst leaning on the only thing holding you up now.


End file.
